


In Shattered Pieces That May Never Be Replaced

by TheHolyTaxAccountant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHolyTaxAccountant/pseuds/TheHolyTaxAccountant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was how Castiel Novak learned the most agonizing truth of life. He was in it alone. No Dean to look out for him, no warm body to touch when he needed to be anchored, no sweet, gruff voice to rouse him from peaceful sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Shattered Pieces That May Never Be Replaced

When hours turn to weeks and weeks turn to years, memories become hazy and people leave. People who swore to never leave your side move across the country and get married and eventually stop sending Christmas cards. Memories that were once so vivid, that could be brought up by a singular smell or sound, become miniscule tugs in the depth of your stomach. Things that seemed so important seem so small in the scheme of things; first kisses pale in comparison to first electric bills, first breakups to the first failure of a college class, first loves to the first day of a career. 

Such could be said about the relationship of Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak. 

It had humble beginnings, as many first loves do. In Lawrence, Kansas, the two were neighbors and friends from a very young age, became almost inseparable weeks after they met. Dean moved into the house next to Castiel's after his father retired from service, into the white house that had been empty for as long as Castiel could remember. He had run across the yard when he saw a boy climb out of the massive black car, introducing himself breathlessly and asking if he would like to come over for lunch. Dean had told him he talked funny and said that he would come if there was pie. Castiel said he didn't understand what he meant and that his mother had just taken an apple pie out of the oven. 

Castiel discovered that his dialect was more sophisticated than Dean's, which was why Dean told him he talked funny, and that Dean loved pie more than anything in the world. He learned the black vehicle was a 1967 Impala, that Dean had a kid brother named Sammy, and he did everything his dad told him to even if he didn't want to. Castiel told Dean that his older brothers were called Lucifer, Michael, and Gabriel, about his dreams to become a doctor, and that his father sometimes hit his mother and them, but it was okay because he knew he loved them. Dean told him that was stupid.

That day's lunch turned into spending days together and having sleepovers and camping out in Dean's treehouse when the weather was warm. Every spare moment was spent together except school nights, which their mothers wouldn't allow, but there was a single exception to that rule. The night before the first day of middle school, Castiel was more scared than he had ever been. Moving to a new school with new people and a new playground was a terrifying concept, and the more he thought about it the worse it seemed. His mother found him on his bed after dinner with his nose in a book but his eyes closed tightly, as if trying to keep the thoughts out. Several minutes after she left, Dean arrived in his pajamas with a reassuring smile and two slices of pecan pie, and Castiel knew it was going to be okay. 

Their high school experience was exactly as one might assume. Dean joined the football team and Castiel spent his evenings and weekends in the library; nevertheless, they were still the best of friends. Castiel oftentimes spent Friday nights with Dean watching horror flicks, even though he never understood why Dean chose to stay in with him when he could have been out with girls. The summer after their freshman year, they shared their first kiss, chaste and tasting like burgers and feeling like hope. Dean confessed that it was his first kiss as Castiel smiled, in awe that such a beautiful boy had never been kissed. That night should have changed things between them, but it didn't. It felt natural, as if that was the only logical thing to do with the boy who was a permanent fixture in your existence. 

Kissing became another habit of theirs, the same way everything else did: easily. Sometimes it was innocent pecks stolen over textbooks as they studied; other times it was breathy and passionate and led to groping one another over the console of the Impala, which Dean had received as a gift for his sixteenth birthday. It didn't go further than that until the spring of their junior year, on a night so surreal, so magical, that Castiel felt as if he was in a dream. They went to prom stag together, neither of them mentioning that he was going alone solely to be with the other. Slow songs were spent at the snack table, laughing and standing a little too close. They danced to the upbeat songs, deposited in a dark corner so they could touch and grind filthily without prying eyes finding them doing the things with one another that they were supposed to do with girls. When it got late enough for them to leave unquestioned, they drove the Impala to a clearing in the woods where they fished and swam during the summer. Dean had asked Castiel, green eyes sparkling and hands twisted together in his lap, if he would like to sit in the backseat. Castiel had swallowed, heart hammering, and said yes. That was how it happened, tender and slow because they thought they had all the time in the world. 

College was a wake up call for both of them. Castiel thought it was over as their lips met for the last time through the rolled-down window of the clunker that would be carrying him to the University of Kansas. Dean had whispered promises the night before of calling often and visiting when he got a break from vocational school, and Castiel wanted to believe him so badly, but he knew it wouldn't last. The first year passed in a haze of homework and lectures and missing Dean. Dean visited once a month, usually only a night of desperate lovemaking and pillow talk, occasionally breakfast if he could stay long enough. Regardless of the nights spent together, the calls came less frequently with the passing of time. His senior year, Dean told him he was moving to take over the garage of a family friend. With a wavering voice, Castiel had asked how far away he would be. Dean told him Colorado, and Castiel cried silently in his arms, pressing himself into his bare skin and trying to make an imprint that might last. 

Castiel became a surgeon in a town a few hours from Lawrence, not wanting to be around the things Dean's essence clung to, painful reminders of what was and would never be. He received calls on his birthday and texts every few months, but nothing substantial enough to satisfy the craving for Dean that was always present in the back of his mind. Alcohol and one night stands dulled the need and left him feeling disgusting afterward, almost like he was cheating on Dean. He avoided going home for holidays, working overtime during those weeks, and telling his family there was no way he could get off work. The lies made him feel guilty, but he was sure it was nothing compared to the pain of sitting across the table from Dean, turkey and so much more separating them. 

The winter after his thirtieth birthday, Castiel received a wedding invitation, white with silver letters and a photo of Dean and a brunette on the front. He stood in front of the fireplace hours later with an empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and the invitation in the other. Castiel dropped the paper into the small pit, watching the flames devour the material and Dean's smiling face He felt tears streaming down his face when he screamed and threw the bottle across the room, wishing the shattering of the glass would shock him out of his misery. Another half a bottle of whiskey later, he vomited into the toilet and watched the remains of his lunch and his willpower mix in the porcelain bowl. He didn't respond to the text asking him to be Dean's best man and didn't attend the wedding. Dean would be happier that way. 

Two years after that, Castiel received the most devastating phone call of his life. His mother had passed away suddenly; they told him it was a heart attack and nothing could have been done. He shoved thoughts of Dean aside, telling himself not to be ridiculous, and drove to Lawrence. When he arrived, Gabriel gathered him into a tight hug and cried with him. Lucifer told them to suck it up, holding back tears of his own, always the tough one. Michael told them they would get through it, eyes puffy as he ruffled Castiel's hair. Once he was composed again, Castiel asked where their dad was, and was told he was in bed staring at the wall. The planning of the funeral was left to Castiel and Michael, the two brains of the family. As expected, Dean was at the ceremony with a woman and child in tow. Castiel avoided his eyes throughout the service, not surprised when he approached him later. 

Dean said his name sympathetically, placing a hand on his shoulder. Castiel looked down and stepped to the left, causing the hand to fall, moving away from the touch he needed now more than ever. But he couldn't have it; it wasn't his for taking. Dean said he was sorry; Castiel thanked him. He looked and saw so much in those beautiful green eyes, hurt and longing and a million other things he couldn't put into words. Dean flatly stated that Castiel didn't come to his wedding, looking away from Castiel to the graveyard around them. Castiel watched him, picking out differences in his appearance and memorizing all of him. He said he knew and tried to make the words hard, uncaring, but they came out in a whisper full of sadness. Dean focused his eyes on him again when he asked why, and Castiel wished he hadn't. He told Dean he knew damn well why. The urge to leave it at that overtook his mind, telling him it would be easier that way, but he ignored it. Dean's lips formed a hard line as he nodded once, slowly, as if he had just confirmed something. Castiel fought tears. He'd spent so long fighting it, stifling these feelings, and they were all bubbling to the surface and begging to be let out. Dean asked if he wanted to go to dinner, and he agreed because there would never be a time in this life or the next when he could say no to Dean Winchester.

They went to a diner they had frequented during high school, a place so full of memories it was practically spilling over. Dean told him about marrying Lisa and the garage and having a kid. Castiel told stories of surgeries, of lives saved and lives lost. They spoke of ten years' worth of things, but skirted around the most important one. They went to a bar; Castiel asked where Lisa and his child were, and Dean told him he sent them back to his parents' house. After a few shots, their guards came down of their own accord, and they talked about the reason they were actually there. Castiel asked Dean if they ever really had a chance; Dean said probably. Castiel's eyes shone with tears as he asked if they had one now. Dean held one of his hands in both of his as he told him they didn't, letting him jerk away as if he'd been burnt. 

Castiel took a long pull from Dean's beer as his eyes became steely with resolve. Then, he said it; he told Dean he loved him. Dean closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and told him that he knew. Castiel asked if he loved him back, and Dean said he did. They drove silently to Castiel's hotel; Castiel fought to not touch Dean, and Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Dean shut the Impala off and put the keys in his pocket. Castiel gave him a questioning look, and lunged over the console before he could have a second thought. Dean met him halfway, every bit as hungry for it as Castiel was. Castiel tried to communicate through his lips and tongue how much he missed and loved him, how much he needed and wanted him. Dean melted into him, letting Castiel kiss him until they were both breathless. Castiel asked if he would like to come in, and Dean answered by hauling them both out of his door and into the room. 

Castiel shoved Dean up against the white wall of the hotel room, hands sliding under his shirt, feeling his heated skin for the first time in so, so long. Dean gently guided him to the bed, stripping his shirt off before letting Castiel touch him again. Castiel ran his hands from his stomach to his pectorals, from his shoulders to his arms. He mumbled about how much he missed him as Dean lay back on the bed and pulled him into his lap. Dean whispered that he had missed him as well, beginning to work at the buttons of Castiel's shirt. Castiel loosely gripped his wrists and closed his eyes, savoring the moment and trying not to think of how right it felt to be doing this with a married man, a man with a family. Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's as he pushed the shirt from his shoulders, bittersweet and undemanding. 

Castiel's fingers fumbled as he undid Dean's slacks, pulling them down slowly as he crawled down to the foot of the bed. He looked over Dean's body as he unlaced his shoes, removing them and his socks and letting the trousers fall to the floor. Dean did the same for Castiel and settled back on the bed. Dean asked if he had anything, and Castiel said he did, padding to his duffel bag. He pulled a foil package and a small bottle from the outside pocket, thankful he had packed them just in case. Dean had removed his boxers while his back was turned and was splayed on the bed, donning nothing but a small smile meant only for Castiel. Castiel couldn't help but return it. Everything was going to be okay, even if it was only for a night. 

They took their time, going almost slower than they had their first time, because this time the fact that they didn't have all the time in the world was looming over the bed. Dean pulled Castiel's boxers from his pale legs, making him whine in anticipation and need. Castiel told him he loved him, and repeated the three words over and over as he worked him open. Dean said it back as he curled his fingers inside Castiel, brushing the spot that made Castiel scream his name and ramble that he needed him inside him now, right now, forever. Castiel stared at Dean as he hefted one of his legs up on his shoulder, admired the tan skin of his arms as they flexed with the effort. He gripped the sheets until his knuckles went numb as Dean entered him. It had been years since he felt like this, as if he truly belonged. 

Castiel drew in short breaths, noticing he had closed his eyes only when Dean asked him to look at him. With effort, he opened his eyes to find Dean staring down at him like he was the only thing that mattered, that had ever mattered, and that will ever matter. He repeated that he loved him for the umpteenth time and watched the shape of Dean's mouth as he said it back, and that was all Castiel had ever wanted. Dean began moving, his mouth falling open, eyebrows knitting together. Despite the waves of pleasure washing over him, Castiel couldn't block out the idea that this was the last time they would be together. When he cried, Dean slowed his movements and shushed him, telling him it was okay and asking if he wanted to stop. Castiel rubbed his eyes helplessly, begging him not to stop, telling him he needed this so much. 

It was over too quickly. Castiel clung to Dean, an arm around his torso, a leg between both of his. Dean rubbed his back and kissed his forehead, kindly pretending not to notice the tear stains on the pillowcase. Castiel swore under his breath when Dean said was getting late. Deciding he had nothing to lose other than the man beside him, he pleaded with him not to go, to just stay the night. Dean gave in without much resistance, and Castiel kissed a line from his clavicle to his lips, silently thanking whoever was up there. 

Castiel woke to early morning sun and Dean's presence, something he had dreamed about since high school. He carded his fingers through his short hair, careful not to wake him up; he wanted this to last as long as possible. The sun rose higher and higher, filtering through the red curtain and casting a rosy glow over the room. Dean's eyes fluttered open, stretching lazily and telling Castiel good morning. Castiel kissed him and buried his face in his shoulder; Dean hugged him until he could barely breathe. They stayed that way for a few minutes. Castiel inhaled Dean's scent, wondering if this would be the last time he smelled it. 

Castiel asked if last night was a mistake, and Dean said it wasn't. He wanted to ask the question that was weighting the air around them, making his movements careful and clingy, pressing on his chest until he couldn't breathe; would Dean stay with him? Dean said he couldn't, that Castiel should know better. He had a kid to take care of, for Christ's sake. Castiel grew numb as Dean pushed away from him and got dressed. He felt Dean's gentle lips against his, whispering apologies and I love you and I hate this is how it's ending. When Castiel asked if this was goodbye, Dean nodded stiffly. 

This time, Castiel didn't cry; he felt hollow instead, like all of his insides had been scraped out and could never be put back in. He gripped Dean's hand, bringing it to his unclothed chest and asking if Dean could feel his heart. Dean said he could; Castiel said he was going to take it with him when he left, all the way back to Colorado with his damned family and his damned white picket fence life. Dean's eyes filled with ruefulness as he said he wished it was different; Castiel asked if he would hold him. 

Dean slipped under the covers, boots and all, and let Castiel, stark naked, curl against him. It was simply two souls clinging to each other and wishing they knew how to put their emotions into words, and it ended too soon. Castiel kissed Dean with all the sincerity he could muster, interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Lisa. That was when he broke. He yelled, face reddening and throat straining, I love you and I hate you and why are you doing this to me and go to hell and please don't leave me I need you. Dean stood and shrugged his coat on, telling Castiel he would be okay; they both knew it was a lie, only said aloud in hopes of the action making it true. They shared one final, desperate kiss before Dean left Castiel to get on with his life, one that would have nothing to do with him.

Castiel lay in bed long past the time he was supposed to turn in his room key and leave. Cocooned in come-stained sheets and the overwhelming scent of Dean, leather and spicy cologne and home, he fell apart. It was over. A voice told him it was a good thing, he finally had closure, but a bigger voice told him there was no point anymore, Dean would never be his. He wanted to go to the liquor store around the corner and drown his sorrows, but he didn't; he forced himself to feel everything, to revel in the last thing he had of Dean. 

Days passed. His cell phone rang and vibrated continually. Housekeeping knocked on the door at regular intervals, a beat that matched the pounding of his head. Bile teased the back of his throat, and his stomach ached with hunger. When the stench of his own body odor overtook Dean's comforting, torturous scent, Castiel dragged himself out of bed and showered, the water so hot it felt searing and left his skin bright red. He pulled his clothes on in slow, methodical movements that didn’t take any thought, just muscle memory. Scrolling through his missed calls and texts, he found with bitter disappointment and a painful lack of surprise that none were from Dean. 

That was how Castiel Novak learned the most agonizing truth of life. He was in it alone. No Dean to look out for him, no warm body to touch when he needed to be anchored, no sweet, gruff voice to rouse him from peaceful sleep. He carried on working at the hospital, using the focus that surgery required to push green eyes and stubbly jaws out of his mind for a few hours everyday. He began coming home for holidays again, trying so hard to convince himself it wasn't in hopes of seeing Dean. Dean never showed at the family dinners, never contacted him again at all. 

Castiel became content with his miserable life, comfortable in his lonesomeness. Dean was his first and his last, his beginning and his ending, his joy and his sorrow. An everlasting presence, like an angel on his shoulder, that never fully left him even when he was thousands of miles away. That was how it was supposed to be; that was Castiel's fate.


End file.
